


We’re not playing games, and we’re not playing lovers

by eleanor_lavish



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-31
Updated: 2008-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eleanor_lavish/pseuds/eleanor_lavish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Brendon fucking Urie, ladies and gentlemen.  Boy most likely to turn you queer, and least likely to ever fucking notice."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	We’re not playing games, and we’re not playing lovers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://wearemany.livejournal.com/profile)[**wearemany**](http://wearemany.livejournal.com/) : It’s not exactly what you asked for, but I had it cleared through a NUMBER OF PEOPLE, and also there will probably be a threesome sequel, so. ♥

  
"No, I'm not fucked up," Spencer says tightly into the phone. He's a little baked, but pretty far from fucked up. He's happy for the low hum in his body right now, actually. It's probably keeping him from throwing his phone out the window of the moving bus. Shane is with him in the back lounge, videotaping out the window, and then panning back to where Spencer is standing by doorway. Spencer doesn't mind. He barely notices the camera anymore, just so long as it's attached to Shane's comforting smile. "I'm a little pissed that you just _assume_ \--"

Haley cuts him off with a clipped "Yeah, well, just based on your track record recently--" and they're off. Again. One more fight to add to the pool of them, slowly rising waters that Spencer's pretty sure will drown them soon. "-- into Northwestern, for their pre-vet program," she says, and her voice has changed, softened enough that Spencer snaps to attention.

"What?" he asks, blinking at the wall. There's a shoe scuff mark there, high enough that the shoe was probably thrown, not kicked. He rubs at it with his thumb.

"It's a good program," she says, not defensive, but almost. "It's... I think it's a good idea."

"You're moving back to Chicago," he says flatly. His chest feels a little heavy, like the air just got thicker around him.

"I don't know," she says softly, but she does. They both do.

Spencer looks up and Shane is still watching him, but his camera is tucked under his arm. He tilts his head in question, furrows his eyebrows to say _Should I leave?_ but Spencer just closes his eyes and tips his forehead to the wall. "Tell me about the program," he says. He can hear Shane get up, and sighs a little when his hand presses warm on the back of Spencer's neck and gives just a little squeeze.

*

Vegas is weird at the end of tour. Haley hasn't called since he's been back in the house; she didn't end up in the dorms, and she's staying with her parents for her first year of college. The dogs are happy to see him, but they seem to get quiet when he's around, like they miss her too, or they can feel how much he does. He drops them off at his mom's most days, like a doggie day-care. He tells himself it's so he can get things done, but it's more so that they're not around him all the time, soaking up his depression. Ryan is good for sulking sometimes, but he's planning a trip to see Keltie, and he can't shut up about it. It's not that Spencer isn't happy that Ryan is happy-- or, happier-- but he can't deal with couples.

He ends up and Brendon and Shane's a lot. It's not like being with a real couple if they refuse to admit they're a couple, he figures. And the rest of his Vegas friends... well, who is Spencer kidding. He doesn't really have Vegas friends anymore. At least ones where he can show up and drink all their beer and mope on their sofas. Shane and Brendon live their lives between the fridge and Brendon's 60-inch flatscreen. They don't mind the company.

"Hey, Spence!" Brendon yells, and Spencer is glad he looked up when he did, or he'd have been beaned in the head with a bottle of Rolling Rock. He catches it half an inch from his face.

"Hey, asshole!" he manages, wiping condensation on his jeans, and Shane tips his head back on the sofa and laughs, his Adam's apple bobbing in time with his breaths. "You're going to kill someone someday, Urie."

"Just checking your reflexes, dude," Brendon grins and flops back over the arm of the sofa. His bare toes wriggle under Shane's thigh, and Shane's fingers tighten around his bottle. Spencer follows the line of Shane's arm up to his neck, his mouth, his eyes. Shane's watching him, and they share a smile that Spencer's pretty sure means _Brendon's a douche_ , but could mean something else.

*

Spencer remembers when he used to breathe a little faster whenever Brendon touched him. It's been a long time since then, a bunch of stupid seventeen-year-olds crammed in an old van, Brendon's slim hips shifting against Spencer's on the worn bucket seats, his breath warm on Spencer's neck as they snuggled under a blanket. It's been a long time, but Spencer hasn't forgotten. Brendon has that effect on people.

*

"You coming?" Brendon asks and Spencer looks up from the television long enough to shake his head no. He and Shane have been smoking up and mainlining Monty Python since breakfast.

"Where?" Shane asks as Brendon shrugs into a hoodie and toes on his shoes.

"Ryan's. Working on some stuff. Wanna come?" Shane glances at Spencer and Spencer shrugs. It would suck to finish the marathon himself, but Shane is Brendon's… whatever they are, so…

"Nah," Shane says and shifts until his legs are hanging over the arm of the sofa.

"Whatever, have fun in Burnout City," Brendon rolls his eyes, and Spencer snorts. It's not like Brendon isn't as big a stoner as the rest of them. Brendon's been a stoner since before he met them.

They're halfway though another episode before Shane sighs and turns a little, shifting down so his shoulder is pressed against Spencer's. "Why didn't you want to go?"

"This is more fun," Spencer grins down at him and Shane raises his eyebrows. "Also, they're in some epic battle over lyrics and I am _not_ getting in the middle of that."

"Ah," Shane says, and it's kind of awesome that Spencer doesn't have to explain Ryan and Brendon's epic weirdness to him. Shane knows them all better than they probably know each other by now. He has a thousand hours of footage to show for it.

"Hey," Spencer knocks his shoulder and takes a sip of his beer. "Why aren't you working on the behind the scenes thing? Isn't it due soon?"

"This is more fun," Shane says, sliding in his seat until he's laying with his head in Spencer's lap, eyes still on the television.

"Touche." Spencer slips his fingers idly into Shane's hair and Shane sighs happily.

They must fall asleep like that because the next thing he knows, Spencer is blinking his eyes open and the room is dark, but the light is on in the hallway. Brendon is standing there with his hands on his hips. "Man, this is _epically gay_ ," he says with a grin.

Spencer looks down to see Shane's head still in his lap, his breath warm and damp across Spencer's stomach where his shirt has rucked up. Spencer's fingers are still in his hair.

"Shut the fuck up, you Liza-loving muppet," Shane pipes up from somewhere around Spencer's crotch. He doesn't even open his eyes.

*

"You don't mind?" Spencer ask, and he's not sure why he does-- Shane's never seems to mind Brendon's hookups. Right now he's just sitting at the table, watching Brendon skate his fingers over the arm of a blond scene girl with too much eyeshadow, shaking his head and smiling around the rim of his glass.

"Just so long as he doesn't bring them to my house," Shane replies, and Spencer thinks that's probably a good rule.

They've been at this new club for about three hours, and the music is awful, but the drinks are free, so. "I am so fucking drunk," Spencer announces and Shane nods in agreement. Brendon pushes a lock of the girl's hair behind her ear and tilts his head like he's actually listening to what she's saying, and Spencer and Shane start giggling hard enough that they have to hold each other upright. "Yo, let's get the fuck out of here," Shane mumbles against Spencer's shirt.

They take a car service back to Shane and Brendon's, and Spencer is still totally drunk when they there but at least he can stand up on his own. Shane seems a little more with it, but that's before they stumble into the living room and Shane trips over an empty beer can and then his own foot. "Hey, come on," Spencer says with a smile and hooks his arm under Shane's to keep him upright. Then Shane trips over _Spencer's_ foot and they both go down hard.

"...Ow," Shane says from somewhere under Spencer's shoulder. Spencer is laid out almost on top of him, but it's not like Shane really buffered his fall. All of Spencer's friends are skinny little fuckers.

"Dude," Spencer groans. He shifts up to his elbow and looks down. Shane's face is a few inches from his and his eyes are open, blinking and hazy and huge. He's grinning. "You suck, seriously."

"Sorry," Shane says, still a little breathless from the fall. Neither of them try to stand up. "The floor's cool," Shane notes. "I could sleep here." Spencer just nods. Shane's really warm underneath him, and his fingers are still tangled in the sleeve of Spencer's hoodie. It's warm and dark and it's been a really, really long time since Spencer's been this close to anyone, in any sort of horizontal sense. Parts of him are taking this whole situation entirely the wrong way. He takes a deep breath through his nose, tries to clear his head. "Spence?" Shane says, and his hips shift a little against Spencer's.

"Yeah?" Spencer's voice is barely a whisper. _This is so, so stupid,_ he thinks. _So, so monumentally--_

Shane leans up and kisses him, lips warm and slow. Spencer opens his mouth before he can even register what he's doing, and Shane sighs a little, moves his hand up Spencer's arm to grip his shoulder. Shane's skin is warm where Spencer's fingers brush against his side and his mouth tastes like rum and coke and expensive tequila from the club. Spencer jerks back like he's been stung. "Brendon," he manages, panting a little. Shane slides his fingers into Spencer's hair.

"Won't be home for hours and hours," he says, voice half-lazy, half-seductive.

"No, I know," Spencer says and closes his eyes when Shane presses up to taste the skin under his jaw. "Dude, I can't," he says. "You and Brendon--"

"Me and Brendon what?" Shane murmurs. His hips shift again, and fuck, Spencer is already hard enough that he has to fight the urge to press down into them.

" _You_ and _Brendon_ ," Spencer hisses. "I can't... he's my best friend, man."

Shane goes totally still under him and Spencer thinks it's all catching up to him. But when he looks down, Shane just looks... a little shocked. "There is no me and Brendon, Spence."

"That's. ...What?" They don't talk about it, obviously, but Shane likes boys and Brendon likes _Shane_ , and it's obvious enough to anyone with _eyes_...

"I swear to you, on a stack of goddamn bibles, that there is no 'me and Brendon'." Shane looks up at him, totally serious and a little sad, and Spencer thinks _oh_. Spencer thinks _Brendon's a total idiot._

"Brendon's an idiot," he says. Shane just blinks at him.

They could get up now. Shane and Spencer could get up, and have a manly bro-hug and stumble drunk to their own rooms, and never speak of this again. Or... "C'mere," Shane says, and tugs Spencer down until his elbow goes out from under him. Spencer's still drunk enough that he can't come up with the coordination needed to get his own shirt off, much less Shane's, so they stick to making out, hands cool on warm skin. His head is swimming, but in the nice way-- fuzzy, like he's half-dreaming. He gets his thigh between Shane's and presses down, and Shane moans low into Spencer's mouth.

Spencer wakes up hours later with his hand shoved up Shane's shirt, a little bit of drool darkening his t-shirt where Spencer's head had been pillowed against his arm. It's only four am, based on the clock on the cable box, and Brendon's probably not home yet. Spencer staggers to his feet and into the bathroom. He's still drunk when he downs a glass of water and stares at himself in the mirror. His lips look swollen and there is a patch of redness on his neck, sensitive when he touches it. _Beard burn_ he thinks, and remembers the slight scratch of Shane's skin under his tongue. He suddenly feels a lot more sober.

He goes back to bed in the guest room, stopping to throw a blanket over Shane's sleeping body on the floor.

*

The next morning would be weirder, if Spencer wasn't so fucking hungover.

"Can you please not—" he says pleadingly as he shuffles into the kitchen. Brendon is singing Beyonce, complete with hip-pops on "woah-oh" parts, and attempting to make a fried egg. Across the room, Shane looks up from his mug of coffee and shakes his head very slowly.

"Morning!" Brendon grins at him, a little glint in his eye.

"Fuck you," Spencer retorts.

"Aw, Smith, you're just pissed because I got laid last night and you didn't," he replies and Spencer's eyes fly to Shane before he can stop them. Shane is flushed, but he laughs.

"How do you know we didn't just leave your ass at the club and come home and have an orgy?" he says, and Brendon snorts.

"You were passed out on the floor when I got home, and you still had your pants on, so I made an educated guess." The sound of the spatula scraping against the bottom of the pan is enough to make Spencer's stomach quiver and then turn over. Spencer shuffles to the fridge and pulls out the orange juice. "Besides, you'd never have an orgy without _me_ ," he grins, and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Shane snorts hard enough to start coughing and Spencer blinks at Brendon.

"Clearly," he says and Brendon winks and takes his plate into the living room.

"Fuck," Shane says quietly, his face red and smiling. Spencer wants to kiss him. He takes a step back.

"Shane, we should--"

"Dude, stop," Shane says, and holds up his mug. "Later, talking. Now, coffee."

Spencer nods. He doesn't really want to talk, so it's a good plan.

"It's better than a rebound though, right?" Shane asks a few minutes later. His voice low and warm. "You and me, friends with benefits."

Spencer can feel the back of his neck heating up. He takes a sip of juice right out of the carton, and he's smiling when he turns back to the fridge.

*  
It's been a week, and it hasn't happened again. Spencer's not _anxious_ about it, not really, but every time Shane's in a room with him, he gets this low hum under his skin. He thinks Shane maybe feels it too, since he catches Shane watching him a few times, his teeth worrying his lower lip. It'll happen again, Spencer is pretty sure. It probably would have already if Brendon wasn't there every fucking minute of every day.

It's not his _fault_ , Spencer tries to reason with himself, but every time he and Shane sit a little too close on the couch, Spencer is acutely aware of Brendon singing a snippet of some new song half a room away.

He makes it until Brendon announces that the three of them should partake in a two day "bacchanal of epic proportions, mainly involving tequila and the Emmanuelle movies."

"Hey, I should go get my dogs and bring them home before they forget what the place looks like," he says, standing up and stretching a little. When he looks down, Shane's gaze darts quickly from his torso to his face.

"Laaame," Brendon proclaims.

Spencer clears his throat. "Yeah, I'll probably just, you know. Hang out for a little while by myself." Shane's paused with his beer bottle almost to his lips.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," Spencer says, ducking his head a little to hide his blush. "Just me and the dogs, hanging out."

Spencer is home for all of an hour when Shane rings his doorbell.

*

The first time Shane goes down on him, Spencer is caught a little off guard. At least that's his excuse for coming in under a minute. Shane smirks at him. "It really shouldn't have been all that surprising," he says, leaning back against the arm of the sofa. Brendon hasn't been home in two days, but he's been checking in via text message to tell them all the _sick shit this girl likes, will send pics omg_. Spencer deletes the picture messages without opening them. "I mean, I pulled your pants down, and then I was, you know. In that general vicinity."

Spencer kicks him lightly in the thigh. He's still panting, and shivers when Shane runs a hand up his bare side. "Fucker. You know what I mean."

What he means is _you've never done that before_ and _I need a heads up when we're heading to a new base_ and a healthy dose of _oh, fuck, is it my turn now?_

"You don't have to," Shane says with a slight eye-roll, but there's a grin tugging the corner of his mouth. Spencer clamps his mouth shut, in case he's thinking out loud now, but no-- Shane's just known him long enough to be a mind reader. It's as comforting as it is creepy.

"I would--" he starts, and Shane folds over him, tangling their legs together and kissing his shoulder.

"It's cool," Shane murmurs into his skin, but his hips shift a little until they brush up against the back of Spencer's hand. Spencer laughs.

"No, I mean, I totally would," he says, and savors Shane's shiver as he draws his hand up and slips his fingers into the waistband of Shane's boxers. "I just haven't, you know--."

"Uh-huh," Shane breathes, and Spencer knows he could be talking about nuclear physics right now, or the Simpsons, and Shane would have basically the same response. He jerks him off in quick, sure strokes.

They haven't moved fifteen minutes later, even though Spencer's arm is nearly asleep from the weight of Shane half on top of him. Shane's hand stopped petting his side a few minutes ago, and Spencer wonders if he's asleep. "Shane?" he whispers. His arm hurts, and also, they're kind of gross.

"When you said you haven't, did you mean 'in a while' or..." Shane asks. It's not accusatory, but Spencer's shoulders tighten defensively.

"Or," he grits out, and Shane rubs his chin over Spencer's bare shoulder sleepily.

"Hmmm," Shane manages, and Spencer is about to ask _Why, what of it?_ when Shane flops an arm across his chest and nuzzles closer. (Shane's a fucking _cuddler_ , way more than Haley ever was, and Spencer's half-charmed, half-exasperated by it.) "Thought you would have," he says. "You know, back in the day."

Shane's voice is really even, easy and light, but Spencer can feel where he's tensing up a little. _Back in the day_ could mean a million things, but Spencer flashes to that few months in a van, before they got too big, too fast, and Brendon's hair when it used to fall in his eyes. Before main stages, before Haley, before Ryan's fashion sense got the better of all of them. He's only kissed one boy before Shane, and it was lovely, sweet and almost too much for Spencer to handle. When he'd pulled away, flushed and shaking just a little, Patrick had squeezed his hip and kissed his cheek and said _Maybe later_. "Nope," he says, and Shane's fingers curl around his upper arm.

"Oh." The silence between them makes Spencer's heart race a little. He'd been young then, really stupidly young, and in love with someone who wasn't ever going to love him back, not like he wanted.

"Just wasn't meant to be, I guess," he says, because he knows that Shane knows about Brendon-- Shane sees everything, then watches it over and over again, alone in his studio. Spencer doesn't even want to _think_ about the things Shane probably knows about all of them.

"God, we're fucking retarded," Shane says ruefully and Spencer barks out a surprised laugh. "Brendon fucking Urie, ladies and gentlemen. Boy most likely to turn you queer, and least likely to ever fucking notice."

Spencer laughs so hard he starts to hiccup, and Shane drags them off the couch and into his room, stopping along the way for a glass of water and a wet washcloth. "Stay," Shane says when they're cleaned up, and Spencer agrees because the tone of his voice is matter-of-fact, like no one would think twice if they found Shane and Spencer passed out in Shane's bed together. Brendon-the-oblivious probably wouldn't, Spencer thinks, and giggles again.

When he wakes up later, with the sun streaming in the window, his body is warm along his right side from where Shane is pressed against him, too close in the massive bed. Spencer's phone beeps from the nightstand. Shane makes a sleepy sound when Spencer reaches over him to check it. It's a text from Brendon: _with ross. u should c hickys. come for brunch._

When he looks down, he lets his eyes wander over Shane-- there are marks there that Spencer has been pretty good about keeping to hips and shoulders, places they can be hidden easily. A few are red-purple from last night, but Spencer can spot a faint one under Shane's nipple that is already fading to mottled blue. He can see that Shane is half-hard, his dick pushing lightly against the fabric of his boxer briefs.

By the time Shane wakes up, Spencer's tongue is already sliding along the underside of his dick. "Jesus fucking Christ, Spence," he gasps and Spencer smirks up at him from the foot of the bed.

"Tell me how you like it," Spencer says, pitching his voice low, and Shane tangles his fingers gently in Spencer's hair and moans when Spencer finally gets the hang of it.

*

Brendon is wearing cutoffs.

No. Brendon is wearing the most obscene cutoffs Spencer has ever seen. It's a hundred and twelve degrees in Vegas today, and Brendon is _washing his car_ in _cutoffs_. Spencer stands by the screen door and gapes.

"It's like Fire Island exploded all over him," Shane mutters from over his shoulder, and Spencer grins.

"Fire Island in the seventies."

"All he's missing is a pornstache and visible chest hair," Shane agrees.

Spencer groans. "Oh, god, don't give him ideas."

"I bet you'd rock a pornstache," Shane says quietly, hooking his chin over Spencer's shoulder. "You rock pretty much anything starting with 'porn'."

Spencer is about to deliver a scathing comeback when Brendon turns up the iPod stereo he's set up on the patio and lets out a whoop.

"Tell me that is NOT Wham," Shane says, stunned.

They both just watch in silent awe as Brendon soaps down his sedan and shakes his ass in time with George Michael.

*

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Spencer says, a little mortified when his voice breaks. Shane pauses, his hand still down Spencer's (mostly still buttoned) pants.

"You want me to stop?" he asks, panting against Spencer's ear. They're barely inside Spencer's foyer, and it's been four days since they've had any Brendon-free time. Spencer's left arm is still in his sleeve, and Shane's shirtless but he's still wearing one shoe. Frantic kissing has escalated quickly to Shane getting his hand down the back of Spencer's pants, his fingers kneading and pushing and finally rubbing over the cluster of nerves around his hole. "Spence?" Shane asks again and Spencer' shakes his head no, _no_ , because _fuck_. "Hey--" Shane says, soothing, and Spencer whines high in his throat and yanks Shane closer, his groin pushing into Shane's thigh in small, rolling motions.

"Like it," he pants, and Shane murmurs "fuck yeah," and presses in again, just a little harder, until Spencer is shaking. "More?" Shane asks, and Spencer nods. His nose is pressed hard against Shane's throat and when Shane presses one finger inside, pulsing along with the rolling motion of Spencer's hips, Spencer comes so hard he nearly loses his balance.

"Wow, that was--" he starts a minute later, when he can breathe again and he can register the sticky mess in his pants, and the fact that they're still in the foyer.

"Hot as fuck?" Shane provides. Spencer raises his head.

"I was going to go with mortifying."

Shane laughs, but not meanly, and Spencer flips him off with a grin.

"Seriously, though, I'm going to stick with hot as fuck," he mumbles into Spencer's shoulder. His hand is still warm on Spencer's back, like he's still holding him up. "You could have just told me you were into that," he adds, and Spencer sighs.

"It's not... I mean, it isn't something I'm, like. Whatever," he says, flushing hotly and Shane grins.

"That was not a whatever reaction, man. It's okay. It was kind of my idea, remember? I'm not going to freak out." Spencer takes a deep breath and nods. It's not that he didn't know he liked it-- the few times he got Haley to go anywhere near his ass, it had been pretty awesome, but always tempered by the fact that he knew she wasn't into it, that she was only doing it for him. "Come on, shower."

Spencer almost protests, but Shane is pulling them down the hall, through Spencer's bedroom and into the master bath, stripping off his clothes and Spencer's as they go. This is new, showering together, and Shane is still hard when he shoves his pants down and kicks them off across the tile floor. "C'mon," he says, and Spencer has had sex in this shower before-- Haley's body slick and warm against the cool marble wall-- but he feels stupidly shy when Shane pulls him in for a long, deep kiss. They kiss until Spencer starts getting hard again, body relaxing and warm under the steam of the spray and Shane's wandering hands. Shane's hand slips around his back and down again, wet fingers sliding into the cleft of his ass and then back again, over and over with just a little more pressure each time until Spencer is gasping into Shane's mouth.

"Fuck," Shane whispers. His eyes are dark, pupils blown. Spencer reaches down to touch his dick, but Shane bats his hand away. "Turn around."

Spencer stops breathing for a second. "Shane--"

"Trust me," Shane says, serious and just a little pleading, and Spencer closes his eyes and lets Shane twist him until he's facing the wall, one hand bracing himself on the towel rack.

Shane's steps back for a second and Spencer can hear the squirt of the pump-top of his conditioner bottle. He shivers, and Shane steps closer until he's almost flush with Spencer's back, one hand snaking around to lay low and wide across his stomach. He slips a leg between Spencer's, pushing his thighs apart a fraction more, and Spencer can feel Shane's dick hard against his thigh. _Oh fuck fuck fuck_ , he thinks frantically for a second, but Shane only pushes a finger inside him, slow and easy. "Let me in, come on, oh fuck," Shane intones, pressing his forehead to the back of Spencer's neck. Spencer keeps his eyes closed and breathes deeply through his nose until Shane is nearly all the way in.

"Sha--" Spencer starts, but he can feel Shane's finger moving inside him, twisting just the right way, and his body jerks so hard he nearly hits his head on the wall. "Ahhhh, wha," he manages, and Shane smiles against his skin.

"One more," Shane whispers and pulls his finger out enough to add a second and push them both in. The resistance is enough to rock Spencer onto his toes, and it burns, it fucking _hurts_ , but then Shane's fingers are bending a little again, _just so_ , and Spencer presses his head into his arm and lets out a little sob. Shane's other hand slides down his stomach to his dick and it only takes a minute of jerking him off to the same quick rhythm of Shane's fingers in his ass before Spencer comes again, grateful for the wall in front of him as it holds him on his feet. He rocks back onto Shane's hand on last time and can feel the heat of Shane's dick over the warmth of the water.

"Spence," Shane groans, desperate, and Spencer turns and slides to his knees. He leans forward to take Shane's dick in his mouth, but Shane just grabs Spencer's wet hair and jerks himself a couple of times. He comes on Spencer's face, the hot water washing it off almost before Spencer can register.

*

Spencer is a "processor", as his mom likes to call him. Ryan prefers "an avoidant bitch". Whichever, Spencer is not really sure when a switch flipped from "friend who I sometimes make out with" and "friend who I let come on my face and kind of enjoy it", but he's seriously not sure where things are supposed to go _now_. Spencer spends much of the following week visiting his mom, getting paperwork done that he'd been putting off for ages, even packing up some of Haley's stuff that she'd left behind. That last one gets him thinking about her, and about their sex life (vanilla, but pretty awesome) and the way he'd felt when they first got together (freaked out, but not in the bad way). Shane calls him a handful of times, and sends a few text messages, but Spencer doesn't answer. He's going to see Shane soon enough; he just needs a little _time_.

 _U and Vldez have a fight? dont b a bitch!_ Brendon sends him on Sunday, and Spencer's stomach tightens. They didn't have a fight. They didn't have an _anything_ after that afternoon in the bathroom. They both passed out, and Spencer woke up to Shane throwing his clothes on and running out the door, late for a meeting with a client.

 _clearly it wasnt ok. im v.v. sorry, spence_ , Shane sends a few hours later, and Spencer's whole body runs hot, then cold. _dont want to be yoko. come back._ Spencer stares at his phone so long he burns his grilled cheese.

 _youre not yoko_ , he manages, and hits send.

it's nearly ten minutes before his phone beeps again. _am still sorry. last thing i wanted was to fuck up u &me._

It's the most frustratingly ambiguous thing Spencer has ever read and he throws his phone across the room with a curse.

*

Spencer misses Shane. He sees Brendon at Ryan's, and sure, he misses Jon, but he misses Shane in the same way that he used to miss Haley when they would fight. He's terrified to talk to him, but equally terrified he'll never talk to him again. It's making him irritable and pissy, and he knows it. Ryan corners him in his studio. "You had a fight with Shane."

Spencer's mouth folds into a thin line. "No, I didn't." Ryan doesn't know what's up with him and Shane any more than Brendon does, and he really doesn't savor getting into some 'why didn't you tell me' argument about his not-so-newfound love of dick with Ryan Ross.

"Whatever, fucking fix it."

"Why should _I_ \--," Spencer starts, sputtering, when Ryan grabs him tight around the wrist.

"Because I'm not going to let you be a pussy about this _again_ ," Ryan says, and Spencer shuts his mouth with a snap. "Who the fuck do you think lived in that van with you three years ago? Brendon might be totally mentally challenged, but I'm _not_. I can't live through another six months of Spencer's-gay-emo-freakout. Talk to him."

Spencer is so scattered that he gets lost on his drive home.

*

"I'm an asshole," Spencer says when Shane picks up the phone. There's a pause, and Spencer wills himself to not hang up.

"You were processing," Shane says, quiet and low, and Spencer remembers that, _fuck_ , Shane has actually _met his mother_.

"Partly, yeah," he replies, and rubs at the back of his neck. "Mostly I'm an asshole."

"If that's an apology, I'll take it," Shane says with a grin in his voice. Spencer lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Did you come to any earth-shattering conclusions while you were off being an asshole?" Shane asks.

"I missed you, which is, you know. Freaking me out a little," he says with a shaky laugh.

"Me too," Shane says, and Spencer thinks he sounds relieved. "Do you want to talk about it, or..."

"Later?" Spencer says, and winces a little. "I mean, yeah, we should, but I'm a little..." He waves his hand and figures that Shane will fill in the rest. "Tell me what I've missed in my self-imposed asshole-exile."

Shane laughs and Spencer can feel two weeks of tension seeping out of his shoulders. "Well, Dylan has learned zero new tricks, I managed to make enchiladas from scratch, and Brendon brought home two dancers from the MGM show."

"I thought he wasn't allowed to bring them home?" Spencer says, trying to picture Brendon sandwiched between two showgirls. It's almost hot, but the height difference kills the image.

"Yeah, well. I guess they were looking for a fourth?" Shane's voice is nervous, and Spencer _knows_ what this feeling is. It's the kind of cold, hard jealousy that makes him want to reach through his phone and strangle a couple of showgirls with his bare hands.

"Oh, yeah?" he says, and leans on the kitchen counter, running his fingers harshly through his hair. His forced, even breathing is probably audible from space.

"Yeah." Shane sounds a little smug, and Spencer wants to hit something. "One a scale of 1 to 10, how fucking stupid am I for saying no?"

Spencer freezes. "You said no?"

"Yeah."

"...To sex with Brendon and two showgirls?" Spencer says again, just to make sure because--

"I. Fuck, Spence. I really didn't want to fuck this up, okay? I know we don't even know what it _is_ , but it's _something_ , right?"

Spencer can feel his heart beating in his palms, his ears, the curve of his throat. "You should come over," he says roughly.

"Okay," Shane says, smiling. "Excellent. What should I bring? Weed and wine?"

"Condoms."

Shane makes the fifteen minute drive to Spencer's in under ten.

*

The next morning, Spencer wakes up to a mouthful of Shane's hair, and a series of annoying beeps from both of their phones.

 _ur stealin my best frnd :(_ Brendon sends to both of them, which makes Spencer roll his eyes. It's followed quickly by _breakfast? I need waffles!_

"Waffles?" Shane says, blinking up at him, and Spencer's heart skitters a little. It's _something_ , alright, and they'll figure it out as they go along, like any other couple.

"Waffles versus Brendon, though," Spencer points out, and Shane sighs.

"We have to tell him eventually, you know."

"Maybe he'll figure it out on his own?" Spencer says hopefully, but they both collapse in laughter as soon as they make eye contact.


End file.
